


Dead Wrong

by Reis_Asher



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Biocomponents (Detroit: Become Human), Fondling, Hanahaki Disease, Happy Ending, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, One Shot, Post-Canon, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:07:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25049632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reis_Asher/pseuds/Reis_Asher
Summary: Hank finds Connor non-responsive and assumes the worst. While waiting for the technician to arrive he attempts to repair Connor himself - and makes a startling discovery...
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 6
Kudos: 120





	Dead Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Hanahaki Disease fic, so if that's not your jam, you might want to skip this one. It has a happy ending though. There's no explicit sex, just some kissing and some clothed fondling.

Connor lay on the kitchen table. Hank didn't know where else to put him, if he was honest about it. He hadn't expected Connor to simply stop working. He'd woken up in the middle of the night to find Connor face down in the living room, his LED completely gone out. The only other androids he'd seen like that were dead, and couldn't be repaired. The thought was like a knife lodged in his gut, and he was sure if he pulled it out he would bleed to death all over the floor.

 _No_. He wasn't ready to call it yet. He had so much he still wanted to say to Connor. They'd been living together less than a year, growing closer by the day. It couldn't end like this. He couldn't lose someone he cared about in such a sudden way again. His heart was only just mending from Cole's death. He couldn't take it if Connor died too, snatched from his arms far too soon.

Had he waited too long to say something about his feelings? He'd wanted to sober up first, to be the kind of man Connor might deserve. He'd taken early retirement from the force and worked on bettering himself. Connor was just starting to get his own life together, now that basic human rights for androids were enshrined in law.

He paced, waiting for the emergency technician from Android Zone to show up. Glancing back at the table, it looked like Connor was just sleeping. There was no traumatic injury to show something was wrong, no blue blood. He'd been warm to the touch when Hank had carried him to the table—too hot, Hank thought. He'd tried everything to rouse Connor, but the android was non-responsive.

The damn technician was taking way too long. Hank grabbed a pack of smokes and a lighter from a kitchen drawer. He'd quit, one of his little life improvements, but he was shaking too badly now to maintain his composure. He wished he could cry, but his tears had dried up long ago, somewhere between his messy divorce and the moment all hope for the future had come to the standstill at the hands of a truck and some unfortunate black ice. All he could do was tremble like the alcohol withdrawal was giving him the shakes all over again.

The chemical hit of nicotine to his brain allowed him to act again, and he realized he hadn't looked inside Connor. He didn't know too much about how androids worked, but he'd seen Connor open his chest panel a few times for maintenance. Hank pulled up Connor's hoodie, exposing his flat stomach, and pressed his fingers gently against the spot that released the panel. It slid upwards beneath his hands, and a bunch of withering petals fell out. Connor was packed with them, pink cherry blossoms filling his chest cavity. Hank gingerly reached inside and grabbed a handful, letting them tumble through his fingers. Had Connor been _eating_ them? Why would he do such a thing? If not, where had they come from? Machines didn't sprout blossoms.

He recalled reading something in Century about biocomponents being manufactured from plant-based substances. Perhaps a cherry blossom seed had somehow gotten into that process? Hank pulled out more petals. No wonder Connor had shut down. His internal components had overheated from the sheer volume of plant matter packed into his body. Hank continued to clear out the petals until he discovered a branch growing inside Connor. It would take some work to extract it, but if that's where the petals were coming from…

Maybe he should wait for the technician. Rooting around in Connor's internals could do more harm than good. If he waited just a few more minutes, the service tech would show up—

Hank's phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket with one hand, fumbling with the controls to answer the call as he held the still-smoking cigarette in the other.

"Mr. Anderson?" A soft, feminine voice echoed through the phone's speaker.

"Yeah, that's me."

"My name is Emily Li. I'm the Android Zone service technician. I'm afraid my car broke down on the way over. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"You gotta hurry," Hank yelled. "He's full of… flowers or something. I've never seen anything like it."

"Don't touch _anything_ ," the technician warned. "I'll be there as soon as I can." She hung up, and Hank put the phone down on the table.

"Don't touch nothin'," Hank whispered to himself. "That branch is right fucking _there_. It's gotta be the cause." It certainly wasn't a part of Connor's system. What harm could removing it do? It was a foreign object. It didn't belong inside Connor, and if he didn't remove it, Connor might die. He couldn't wait for the technician and her goddamn car. If Connor died, he—

Connor wasn't going to die. Hank barreled through the side door into the garage and rooted around for a pair of pruning clippers. All he had to do was cut the damn branch off, clean out the petals, and Connor would be all right again. Maybe. If he hadn't suffered irrevocable damage already. If that was the case, there was nothing the service technician could do anyway. Waiting for her was a fool's game, just like waiting for the ambulance had been after the car crash. He should have done more to get Cole out of the car instead of waiting for the jaws of life. His own injuries had been minor. He should have acted, but instead he'd become hysterical at the scene, paralyzed with the fear of losing everything—and Cole had paid the ultimate price.

He stubbed his cigarette out on the garage floor and walked back inside with shears in hand. Not this time. He was going to save Connor from this—this overgrowth—and he wasn't going to waste any more time. As soon as Connor woke up, he was going to tell him how he felt. No more excuses. No more waiting.

He reached inside Connor and felt around for the branch, and just as he was about to snip it off, Connor's hand moved and gripped Hank's forearm, his fingers closing around Hank's wrist and locking in place. His hold was so tight Hank dropped the clippers, which hit the inside bottom of Connor's chassis with a thud. Hank cringed, hoping he hadn't hit anything important.

"Connor? You're alive?" Hank grinned, hope welling inside him, but his smile faded when he looked down at Connor's face to find it fixed in the same passive expression, eyes closed, his LED dark. Was this some kind of involuntary death grip, like rigor mortis? It was possible that biocomponent muscles experienced some kind of stiffening after death, much like human ones. His hope faded away, and now he was faced with a new dilemma: he was stuck. His right arm was trapped, Connor's immobile limb keeping him in place.

He needed to unlock and answer the door when the technician finally showed up, or she'd leave, sealing Connor's fate.

"Connor, you have to let go of me," Hank pleaded. "If any part of you can hear me, you have to release your grip. I need to let the service technician in when she gets here."

Nothing. Hank bit his lip as desperation washed over him. He could barely reach Connor's shoulder if he stretched. He might detach the limb, and then he'd be free to move. It wasn't something he wanted to do, but it seemed like the only option, considering Connor was unresponsive. He reached over with his left arm and felt for the clip through the fabric of Connor's hoodie—

—and Connor's other arm raised up and grabbed him, pulling his left arm away from his shoulder and holding it tight.

"Connor, you're hurting me!" Hank yelled. The position he was being twisted in was wreaking havoc on his shoulders and back, and he felt like he was in some kind of submission hold. "Let go!"

He looked at the table. If he could use Connor and the kitchen chair as leverage, he might be able to climb up on top of Connor. It wouldn't be comfortable—and it would look inappropriate as hell if anyone were to see him like that—but it had to beat out the excruciating agony of being twisted like a pretzel.

"Why do you have to make everything so hard, Connor? I know you're alive in there, and it's all right. I won't be mad if it turns out this is just some kind of weird stasis thing you've got going on. I just wanna know you're all right." He pulled the chair over to him with his foot and climbed onto it. He pulled himself on top of Connor, gasping at the relief from the muscle strain he'd been experiencing on the floor. His face was just inches from Connor's, and at this distance he could see every little freckle on the boy's face. God, he was pretty. His lips were pink and looked so soft, and Hank wondered what it might be like to kiss him. 

The thought that his chance might be gone forever was too much to bear. Hank ached inside for Connor, his insides shifting with pure yearning like there was something growing inside _him_. He hadn't felt this way in so long—about anything—and his entire being was begging him to act on it, even if it was in the form of a goodbye.

Before he could question the logic of it, Hank dipped his head down and captured Connor's lips in a soft kiss. They felt not at all like human lips—softer, somehow, as if velvet could be—and Hank gasped as Connor's mouth opened to let him in. Connor released his grip, and Hank barely noticed as their tongues wrestled. The yellow glow of Connor's LED circled in the blurry, far-too-close-to-see area of Hank's peripheral vision. Hank wanted to exclaim with delight that Connor was alive, but instead he moaned into Connor's mouth, his dick proclaiming its interest as it stirred in his pants from all the enthusiastic tongue action.

Hank pulled back for breath, gasping as he stared into Connor's deep brown eyes. "This some kind of Sleeping Beauty act or somethin'?" Hank asked, assessing Connor's expression. Connor looked as surprised as Hank felt, and he realized this wasn't some pre-planned endeavor to seduce Hank. Hank sat up, aware he was straddling Connor, on his knees, on the kitchen table, and that he was sporting a very obvious erection in his jeans. "I need answers, Connor. What's going on? Are you in danger? What's with all the petals?" He looked down into Connor's open chest cavity to see all the flowers had vanished, along with the branch. Hank's clippers still sat inside him, and he carefully reached inside and extracted them like he was playing a game of Operation. He closed Connor's front panel, his fingers lingering on Connor's stomach. Throwing caution to the wind, he leaned down and planted a kiss there.

"It's called Hanahaki Disease," Connor explained.

"Wait. I've heard of that." Hank vaguely recalled his obsession with weird Japanese fanlore in his younger years. "That's not _real_. That's fiction."

"In humans, no, but in androids—well, our biocomponents are made of plant matter, and sometimes, when an android is suffering from unrequited love, it can cause dormant seeds left in our organs to activate and sprout. In my case, it was the Japanese cherry."

"Unrequited love?" Hank blinked, putting together the fact that the sakura petals had disappeared from Connor's body when Hank had kissed him. "For _me_?" Horror dawned on him as he remembered what was supposed to happen if the offending flowers were cut from the sufferer's body. "If you hadn't stopped me, I—"

"You would have cut my love for you out of my body," Connor explained. "I was not fully aware, having shut down to a cooling system malfunction, but something in me could not allow that to happen."

"Connor, why didn't you say something?" Hank hissed. "You could have died!"

"I didn't think you returned my feelings, Hank," Connor stated. "Others seemed to treat our relationship as though we were father and son. I thought you might be repulsed to learn I hold romantic and sexual feelings for you."

Hank shook his head. "I _never_ thought of you like a son. That space in my heart has always been occupied by Cole, and Cole alone. Nobody—not even you—could replace him. I never even thought to imagine you in that role." Hank scoffed. "No, my feelings are far more base." Hank cupped Connor's cheeks in his hands. "It's like they made you to appeal to me, right down to the damn freckles. I've been ashamed of my attraction to you, a person who is just finding his own way in the world. It feels like I'm taking advantage to think of you as someone who could be interested in me."

"I am a prototype that cost millions of dollars to build," Connor stated. He seemed proud of that fact—even now, post-deviancy. "I doubt you'd be _able_ to take advantage." Connor reached up and fondled Hank's bulge, interest twinkling in his eyes.

Hank cracked a smile as he exhaled a ragged breath. "I'm just glad you're okay. I thought you were done for." He groaned as Connor massaged his balls. "Connor…"

A sharp knock on the door interrupted them.

"Fuck, that'll be the technician." Hank realized he was in a compromising position and climbed down from the table. Connor moved to follow, but Hank bid him to stay put with one finger. "Hold that pose. I'll be right back." He rushed to the front door and cracked it open just enough to see the face on the other side.

"Mr. Anderson? Emily Li. I'm here about an android?" The technician's LED blinked blue, and Hank felt guilty for the fact that behind the door, he still had his completely inappropriate erection. He needed to make Emily go away to spare her embarrassment.

"My android seems to be all right now," Hank said, scratching the back of his neck. "I, uh, musta pressed somethin' wrong…"

Emily narrowed her eyes, her LED turning yellow. "I'll still have to bill you for the out-of-hours call."

Hank nodded. "Of course, of course. No problem. I'm sorry for uh, calling you all the way out here for nothin'"

Emily managed a wan smile. "I'm glad your situation has been resolved, Mr. Anderson. Enjoy your night." She turned on her heel, walking back down the garden path. She coughed, covering her mouth, and as she placed her hand back down by her side, something tumbled from her palm and landed on the concrete. A lily petal.

"Miss Li. You gotta tell them!" Hank yelled after her. 

She turned again, the tears in her eyes catching the moon's light. "I already did. My feelings were not returned. It's rare for humans to love androids, Mr. Anderson. I wish you luck." She walked back to her car, and Hank watched her drive away before he realized Connor's hands were wrapped around his waist, his head leaned in against his back.

"Is that why you didn't tell me?" Hank asked, his throat tight as he closed the door and turned the lock. "You thought a human could never love an android?"

"No," Connor replied. "I thought _you_ could never love an android, Hank. You once threatened to throw me into a dumpster and light it on fire."

"Well you're wrong," Hank growled, his anger directed inwards at himself for the way he'd acted. "Dead wrong." He realized how devastatingly apt his words were and turned in Connor's arms, capturing his lips in a deep kiss. His arousal had faded, but maybe that was for the best. They had plenty of time to explore physical affection, but Hank wasn't going to wait too long, either. He'd almost lost Connor by being too cautious.

He clung to Connor, nestling his face in Connor's soft hair, planting kisses wherever he could. "How could I _not_ love you?" Hank whispered. "You gave me my life back."

"You gave me my _life_ ," Connor responded. "I deviated because of you."

"Is that so?" Hank asked, but he supposed he'd known it all along. He'd begged for those soft brown eyes to belong to a living being. Pleaded with God to let this boy be real. He'd done everything in his power to guide Connor towards empathy, and Connor had almost died because of it. His body had filled up with cherry blossoms because of his love, Hank's favorite choking him to death. It would have been both cruel and ironic for Connor to die like that, and he silently thanked himself for the selfish act of stealing a kiss on that kitchen table.


End file.
